AN ADVENTURE TO REMEMBER
Explore Kauai’s Na Pali Coast wilderness on foot, by helicopter and by kayak
The trip to Kauai, Hawaii, was the present I gave myself for finishing six rounds of chemotherapy. I had one month between the end of chemo and a double mastectomy. My boyfriend Derek and I had picked Kauai three months earlier, when I had no idea how I’d feel when the chemo was over: we figured that if I were still fatigued there were beautiful beaches to lie on, and if I felt well there were outdoor adventures to be had.
Because I ended up feeling great, we bypassed beaches to focus on the Na Pali Coast — a 27-kilometre stretch on the island’s northwest corner. We explored it by every means possible — by foot, boat and helicopter. By car was not an option: the terrain is too rugged for a road.
Kauai is the fourth-largest of the seven inhabited Hawaiian islands — at 1,380 square kilometres — with dozens and dozens of beaches. Some of the coast’s brick-red cliffs (“na pali” means “many cliffs”) rise 4,000 feet above the Pacific Ocean. Valleys and ridges are carpeted in hundreds of shades of green. The ocean is Smurf blue. Today, none of the Na Pali Coast’s canyons are inhabited — the area is a 6,175-acre (2,500-hectare) state wilderness park — but people did live in all of them into the early 20th century. Some canyons had as many as several thousand residents.
From the ground, hiking along the Kalalau Trail, you see a mess of jungle on one side and cliffs and the ocean on the other. From the air and ocean, there are no signs that humans have ever been there; you can’t even imagine anyone penetrating such a thick, forbiddingly fecund landscape.
BY AIR
Derek and I, both adrenalin junkies, had selected an hour-long scenic helicopter ride with Jack Harter Helicopters because they offered rides without doors. No doors! We could dangle our feet a couple of thousand feet above the ground, lean out to take killer photos and feel that, at any moment, we just might fall out.
For about 10 minutes, we flew over Waimea Canyon — at 16 km long, up to 1.5 km wide and 3,500 feet (1070 metres) deep, it’s also known as the Grand Canyon of the Pacific. Then we headed out over the ocean to take in the entirety of the Na Pali Coast, from Ke’e Beach in the north to Polihale Beach at its southern end.
We flew along the coast close enough to see the foam from the waves crashing against the cliffs and the lines backpackers had strung up at Kalalau Beach to dry their clothes on.
We dropped into deep, narrow valleys — the helicopter descending in tight spirals because the spaces were so narrow.
As we hovered before various waterfalls that cascaded down their flanks, the pilot gave us details: one waterfall was among the tallest on the island; another had a pool at its bottom that people swim in; the really big one was featured in the Jurassic Park movie.
BY LAND
The Kalalau Trail along the Na Pali Coast is serious business.
Because of its narrowness and exposure — in its 18 kilometres, it sometimes traverses sheer cliffs that drop hundreds of feet to the ocean — and penchant for flash flooding, Backpacker Magazine described the Kalalau one of the 10 most dangerous trails in the United States. But it’s also on lists of the most beautiful. National Geographic described it as “the finest coastal hike in the world.”
It turned out that the finest hike in the world was so popular that all the permits to go beyond Hanakapiai Beach, three kilometres up the trail, were taken. So we just hiked those three kilometres.
The trail itself was far from awesome — overused and dotted with both boulders and mud pits — but “awesome” didn’t even begin to do the views justice.
Two days later, we took a trail that doesn’t require permits and was worth the two-hour drive from our hotel in Princeville: the Awa’awapuhi Trail in Koke’e State Park.
The Kalalau Trail is on the coast; Awa’awapuhi is above the coast, dropping about 1,500 feet (458 metres) over its 5-km length along a forested ridge. The trail stops when the ridge does.
Derek and I scrambled about 60 metres past where dirt gave way to rock. There were no warning signs, but there was also nothing but air between us and the ocean, far below.
We ate and took more pictures than at any other point in our weeklong trip.
BY OCEAN
Unlike the heli flight and hike, kayaking the Na Pali Coast was not something we had planned to do. This was mostly because we had little experience ocean kayaking and didn’t know that it was possible to do the coast’s full 27 km in a single day. Also, my spirit animal is a T. rex: I’ve got powerful, muscular legs but tiny, ineffectual arms. Paddling that distance sounded awfully long and difficult.
As we geared up with seven others at Ke’e Beach, our guides did not disabuse us of this idea.
“This is a physical challenge. It’s the longest single-day kayak trip in the world,” said one named Steve. “But it’s more a test of mental toughness. At some point during the day, all of you will be outside of your comfort zone. Whether it’s the exposure of the open sea, discomfort, hunger, fear, fatigue, seasickness — something will challenge you.”
Our launch beach was somewhat protected, but the surf was still a about a metre tall. Two guides pushed each kayak into the ocean between sets of breaking waves.
Everyone circled up about a half a kilometre offshore, and then started paddling west. At times we were much closer to the cliffy shore, and the waves pounding it, than I expected, and at other times we were much farther out into the open ocean than you’d think inexperienced kayakers should be. The rolling swells were so big that kayaks completely disappeared on the far side.
Lunch was on the Milolii Beach area, beyond the end of the Kalalau Trail and accessible only by kayak. A couple of monk seals lazed nearby.
Less than two hours after lunch we arrived at Polihale Beach State Park. The waves here were twice as big as the waves at Ke’e, but there were no nearby hazards such as coral reefs that we needed to worry about. The main danger was our boat.
“When you get sideways in a wave, you will get flipped over,” Steve said. “When you fall out, try to fall on the side of the boat away from shore. Otherwise, the wave will bring the boat into you, and it’ll knock you over. That hurts.”
Steve picked Derek and me to go in first. Paddling toward shore, it dawned on me that he hadn’t said “if you fall out,” but “when.”
We stayed upright until the final seconds. Then, as predicted, we got sideways in a wave. And fell out. We had enough wits about us to tumble away from the beach.
The next couple managed the same.
The third kayak flipped six metres from shore, and its occupants fell out the wrong side. They stood up in the surf, only for their boat to clobber them, knocking them back under. They quickly popped back up, wearing no sunglasses — they’d been swept off — and ginormous smiles. “Wooo-hoo!” one shouted. On the way to the airport for our flight home, Derek and I finally did the beach thing. Anini Beach was divine.
Snorkels were everywhere, gliding through the water like shark fins. Dressed for the flight, we could wade in only to our knees. We’ll do the beaches next trip.
Unless we get a permit for the Kalalau Trail.